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256 pages, Paperback
First published January 4, 1998
Sitting in the kitchen, he emptied Rose’s sewing basket, took out each spool of bright thread, lined them up like a battery of soldiers, the pins and needles a sparkling pile of arms laid down, surrendered. One day, he told himself, the clematis would unwind its arms from around the windows, where its plate-faced blossoms pushed up against the glass and stared at him. The grandiflora ‘Queen Elizabeth’, with its pink vigorous ruff, would tremble at the touch and drop its multitude of petals. The poppies would fall, the phlox would scatter, and the air, now choked with drifting clouds of seed, white thistles with black, driving tips like arrows, would, at last, empty.
All his life, Conrad Morrisey has been a pigeon fancier. It's how, as a young boy in Brooklyn, he first met the ethereal Rose Sparks, who would later become his wife and whose father, Lemuel, raised a glorious flock of homing pigeons on his rooftop. Now Rose has been dead for four months after 50 years of marriage, and Conrad is paralyzed with grief. Aimlessly wandering through his wife's spectacular garden at the back of their house in a tiny New Hampshire town, he is perpetually dazed, carefully dosing his cherished birds with herbal tea while he himself forgets to eat. Conrad and Rose were like ''a matched pair of animals entering the ark, or the mirror images of a butterfly's wings, things that belonged together, that were not whole unless joined''; as the one left behind, Conrad cannot take flight. But then Lemuel, dead for 15 years, appears one night as an angel in Rose's garden. His message is simple: ''Go home,'' he tells his son-in-law, and that is exactly what Conrad does in Carrie Brown's magical first novel. Through the gift of remembrance, Conrad finds his way to a realization of just how astonishing Rose was -- not only in cultivating her garden but also in her careful, unheralded nurturing of the needy. And when a flood threatens the town, Conrad sees with a visionary's clarity that acts of heroism can be both small and large. In keeping with the memory of its absent heroine, ''Rose's Garden'' is both luminous and wise.
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/books/98/04/26...